


Moontides

by MarkedMage



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Post-Canon, F/M, ZFAW, ZFAW submission, ZK week 2020 reunion, for Hayleynfoster, thank you for giving me the opportunity to write for you
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-24
Updated: 2020-11-24
Packaged: 2021-03-10 05:48:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,046
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27638455
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MarkedMage/pseuds/MarkedMage
Summary: He smells like fire and feels like home.She smells like rain and feels like love.
Relationships: Katara/Zuko (Avatar)
Comments: 7
Kudos: 125





	Moontides

**Author's Note:**

> Written for ZFAW, day two: Fanart Tuesday. Technically it's not fanart, but tumblr user Hayleynfoster created two beautiful amvs for ZK week that continue to haunt me long after I finished. It's a beautiful homage to the couple we love and cherish, and I wanted to thank the user for creating such a stunning and hauntingly gorgeous work. Hayley, you are a wonderful wonderful person, and I hope my fic does your work justice. Stay safe, stay wonderful, and thank you, so so so much.

_“the most_

_beautiful tide_

_is the sweep_

_of your heart_

_against mine.”_

_\- Sanober Khan_

~0~

Over the years, Katara had learned that the elements that make up a person also make up who they are. Toph, master earthbender, is as steadfast as the rocks she wields, as firm and steel footed as the earth itself. Aang, a boy of air, swift and agile, with a joyous and childlike energy that mimics the southern wind. Much like the air, Aang is a transient being, and it's no surprise her love would have never been enough to tether him. And so he drifted, just like the summer breeze, but their love is like the wind, always there, if ever fleeting.

Even the non benders are bound to the element of their people. Sokka is like a raging river, powerful, deadly as the current, twisting and turning in its convoluted journey, but always finding the way home. And Suki, a girl with no powers other than the fan at her hands and the glint in her eyes, is as sure-footed as she is deadly, a model of the Earth people just as much as Toph is.

Zuko is the enigma, Katara decides, as she looks out over the stern of her ship. When she thinks of the Fire Nation, she thinks of Azula— a girl forged in the embers of zeal and determination. But with Zuko? Out of all the elements, including the one in which he wields, Katara would say Zuko is like the ocean. A creature of many facets; raging and powerful like a sea in the midst of the storm, with howling winds conveying his fury and rage, but the image Katara best associates with Zuko is the ocean lying before her eyes in this very moment. A sea of deathly calm, inky and black, reflecting the starry sky. A steady lap of the waves against her boat is like his even gasps against her neck, the soothing presence of gentle waves like his molten eyes watching over her.

Zuko may have been forged in the fires of sun, but his heart is woven from the waves of the ocean and beats to the rhythm of saltwater against the shore. She knows this, because she held his heart within her hands once, soothed it’s pained thrum back to the rhythm of the oceans. She thinks maybe that’s why she’s drawn to him— she, a child of the moon and Zuko, a boy whose heart is made from ocean waves. 

The years keep drawing her back to him, and maybe it’s the tides too. 

The ocean has become more of a home to her; she lives on the seas and the journey from the Southern Water Tribe is more familiar than the ice of her birthplace, the creaking walls of the air temples. The open seas have been witness to the trials and tribulations she’s faced since after the war; they’ve witnessed her travels as the Avatar’s girlfriend, her grief and sorrow over the passing of Iroh, the joy of Sokka’s and Suki’s nuptials, and the lonesome solitary of separating from Aang for good. The open seas have witnessed Katara returning to Zuko’s side again and again— for friendship, for reunion, for comfort and for work. The years have turned Katara into Ambassador of the South Pole, and the ocean is her witness, the moon her spectator.

She leans against the side of the boat, eyes on the moon above. It’s almost full, and she can feel the power of Tui rising in her, fueling the gift of La at her fingertips. The waves are calling, a constant beat in her gut that tugs her towards the horizon. She feels the call, feels the insistent nudge deep in her bones, like the way the tides are drawn to the shores. It’s a call she’s always willing to follow, sinking back out onto the open waters to see where they lead her. Maybe to the Air Temples, to Kyoshi, to Ba Sing Se. The call always beckons her, and most of the time, she finds herself heading north.

(Maybe it’s not the waves that tug her north. Sometimes she thinks the sun is in her blood, and the water pulls her to brighter horizons— yearning for warmth that can’t always be brought by the full moon.)

Her grandmother once told her that she belonged to the world, that her destiny lay beyond the ice. She didn't understand it at first, because how could she picture anything beyond the ice and snow that ran thicker than the blood in her veins? But the years of travel and life beyond the ice have whittled away at that image; the more she leaves, the less she wants to return. There's a life out there, somewhere beyond the horizon, calling to her. She doesn't know if it's the ocean crying for her to return, or if it's the tug of the pieces of her she leaves all around the world, in the Fire Nation, left behind with the one she'd like to believe is _home._

Whatever it is, Katara can't wait to find out. The future is in the water, and like the tides, she's going to find the shore once again. Wherever, or _whoever_ , it may be.

The South Pole disappears over the horizon behind her. She doesn't know if she wants to return, or when she will. It's her birthplace, where her mother rests and her father hunts, when her grandmother lives and where the people she's known her entire life call home. The South Pole will always remain in Katara's blood, but the rest of the world resides in her heart. Aang, Toph, Sokka and Suki, all scattered around the world, yet pieces of their souls will always remain attached to her. So much room within her heart, and now all she hopes, is that there's room for one other.

“Due course north,” she murmurs to herself, and clutches at her mother’s necklace, eyes glued to the horizon. “Due course north.”

(Overhead, the moon gleams sliver, and a little pulse beats within Katara's heart. Whether it's the rhythm of the waves, or something more intangible, she doesn't know, but it feels to her like the soft flutter of a gentle firebender's heart— the breath of the sun itself pounding against her ribs.)

~0~

He rises with the sun.

He is the Firelord, and as such, he can choose to rise whenever he’d like— he has advisors and servants and people at his beck and call who can assume his duties until he wakes, but Zuko is a creature of habit. Years on the run, years living off the wilderness and living with children fleeing from the world have honed his body and mind to rise with the dawn. Firebenders naturally wake with the sun, but Zuko thinks that even if he weren’t a child of fire, he’d still rise to greet the sunrise. Something about the warmth of the sun and the way it paints the sky gold and scarlet reminds him of his time with the Avatar. Maybe it’s because of the routine; he’d wake with the sun to prepare water for Katara to make breakfast with, and train with Aang as the first rays of sunlight kiss the horizon. 

(Maybe it's the way the sun strikes the sky in the morning, staining the horizon a beautiful watercolor of reds and blues the exact shade of a waterbender's eyes.)

He rises today, the same as ever, and throws his curtains back in time to see the first of the sun's rays. The sky is painted a beautiful crimson, bleeding into a dark blue that reminds him of Katara's eyes when she first wakes up. He smiles at the thought of her; it'd been several months since he'd last seen her. She returns to the South Pole every winter, like clockwork, to be with her father in the dark, frozen months, and watch over the village during the sickening seasons. He misses her when she's gone— the palace seems cold and dark without her there, like she repels the ice and the cold that tries to haunt the shadows, and when she's gone, they come creeping back.

She's due back anytime now, probably within the next few weeks. He can hardly wait to see his Ambassador, his friend, and maybe, hopefully, something more, but until then, Zuko is the Firelord. And the Firelord's job is never over.

He dresses quickly, donning a simple tunic, and meets his advisors outside. They offer him the schedule for the day, and he makes a quick detour to the gardens before he meets with his ministers. There's a pot of tea waiting for him— jasmine, just as _he_ liked, and Zuko pours two cups, setting one on the simple marble memorial that holds his uncle's painting.

"Good morning, Uncle," he murmurs, and takes a sip of the tea. "Don't worry, I didn't brew the tea. Ponzu, in the kitchens, did. You always liked him."

His uncle's painting, understandably, doesn't speak, but Zuko can imagine what he'd say. _Your tea is bracing, my dear Zuko. Bracing is not negative, but it is not always necessary._

He sighs, and looks out to the turtleduck pond. He can see the male is already out and searching for food in the murk; his mate is still hidden away in the nest with the ducklings. Katara would love them.

 _So soft,_ she'd say. _They're so delicate._

 _But strong,_ is what he'd say in response. _They're like you. Resilient in the face of danger. Delicate, but fierce._

He hopes Katara comes home soon, so she can see them while they're still tiny.

Home. How long has he been thinking the Fire Nation is where she belongs? It might have been since forever, he realizes. She always held a place in his heart, and wherever she goes, she takes another piece of him. 

"Katara should be coming back soon," he tells Uncle. He sips his tea. "I've been thinking about her more often these days, Uncle, and I've come to a startling realization. I think I love her."

Uncle would laugh. _You are a wise young man, Zuko_ , he'd say. _Katara is a brave, strong girl._

"She makes me happy," he continues. "I feel complete when she's here with me, here in the Fire Nation. I know that's something dumb to say, feeling "complete". Azula would tell me that it's dumb when we're already a full human. But I don't know, Uncle. Everything just feels right when she's here."

_It's not dumb. Love is not a tangible, measurable thing, my young lord. It's the tugging in our souls, the whisper in the wind, the breath of rightness we feel in their presence. You are a very lucky man, Zuko, to feel such love for such a wonderful girl._

Zuko smiles, and finishes his tea. "I'm going to tell her, Uncle," he says. "When she returns, I'm going to finally find the words to tell her how I really feel. I hope you can be proud of me when I do."

 _I am always proud of you, Zuko. You know that_.

"Thank you," he whispers, and wipes at his face. "I miss you."

_I'm with you. Always._

He rises, dusts off his pants, and returns inside, where attendants escort him to the main hall. There, he's met with Minister Chang, Chief of Finance, and Minister Fan, the lord residing over the education department. He sits down, and listens to their complaints: there isn't enough money in the royal coffers to fund the public schools in the lower levels of the city. It's a difficult situation, and Fan and Chang fight tirelessly.

"Take the funds allocated for the military," Zuko finally decides, and Chang gasps. "We're in an era of peace, we don't need a massive military budget. Our generals can make due with a budget cut, which I've been meaning to do for some time now. Fan, how much do you need?"

If Katara were here, she would've nodded enthusiastically; arguing for a better education system across the board was something she was passionate about. That's one of the things he's always loved about her— the dedication and love she puts into her work. Saving the world, fighting for what's best for all the nations, putting Ministers in their place. Chang's face right now is boiling red with anger, but if Katara were here, he might've been trembling in his seat.

"My Lord, are you sure?" Chang begins, and Zuko sighs. "Those are funds crucial to—"

"Our borders don't need protection," Zuko interrupts, before Chang can get going. "We can divert enough funds to keep the lower city schools going, until a time arises where we need the military once more. I don't see that coming any time soon, so, _Minister Fan,_ please tell me how much you need."

Fan runs the numbers. They're not extraordinarily high, but they do make Chang sigh in frustration. Still, Zuko sees no need for an exuberant military budget, so he signs the papers to exchange the funds, and makes his leave. Katara would be proud, he thinks, as he heads down the hall for a brief respite before his next meeting. She'd give him that look, her eyes brimming with excitement, a tease of a smile dancing on the corners of her lips. He'd brace himself for the hug, arms coming up to take the full onslaught of her embrace, and the warmth he'd feel from her tackle would be enough motivation to last millenia. _We did it_ , _Zuko,_ she'd say, and the look on her face would make him want to lean down and kiss her, the way he's always wanted.

(There must be a reason fire is drawn to ice. Maybe it's the heat, the fire of the sun desperate for the cold kiss of the ocean's touch, the cool, soft embrace only a waterbender can give. Maybe that's why they say opposites attract; only water can temper fire; only Katara can fit with Zuko.)

He rubs his temples, sliding into his office. He has a few minutes before he has to visit the piers to oversee some maintenance, but he needs to file the report for his advisors to complete the transfer. There's a pot of tea waiting for him, and he smirks. His servants know him so well, he thinks as he sits down. He can imagine Katara laughing as she joins him, pouring them both a cup while ruminating over Chang's harried looks. She'd reach over the table and take his hand, running her fingers over his calloused knuckles, and the look in her eyes would remind him of—

He shakes his head. Now is not the time for Zuko to get distracted by the thought of her. He pours a hasty cup, scribbling down notes for later. His advisors are going to kill him, but it's the least he deserves for getting so distracted.

The papers are left in a haphazard pile by the desk as he scurries out, heading down the halls to the main entrance. He's greeted by Commander Jee and the palanquin, and while he would rather ride an ostrich horse than take the royal carriage, he climbs in because he is _not_ Katara, and only Katara can convince Jee of otherwise, not Zuko.

(The waterbender has everyone she knows wrapped around her finger. It must be the spell she weaves, infused in the water she bends, like the diamond crystals that dance through the air, hypnotic and beautiful, just like her.)

They come to the piers, and Jee leads Zuko into the watchtower, where a few of the captains and workers wait for his arrival. He greets every single one of them in tow, bowing respectfully, and the meeting begins. Progress on restoring some of the docks is well underway, and there's room in the budget for repairs to begin on the watch tower itself. Zuko listens, pleased with the progress, and willingly signs off on the paperwork.

The Firelord's work is never done— there's always another building that needs repairs, more people in need of assistance. But he relishes this work, relishes the late nights and the bleary eyes, because it means progress. Progress means peace, and peace is something he's always wanted— peace is for the world, peace is for his family, and peace is for Katara.

"That went wonderfully," Jee remarks as they wander the halls. Zuko nods in response, eyes trailed on the horizon, where the blue of the sky is kissed with wisps of cotton candy clouds. The sea is quiet today, the breeze gentle and playful, bringing it with it the smell of salt and smoke. The tranquility of the moment makes him yearn for Katara, and maybe Jee notices, because he bows his head and turns away, leaving Zuko to make his way out to the balcony and breathe in the sea air.

He’s left alone in this blissful moment, nothing but a few servants whispering together on the other end of the balcony. He stands there for a moment, breathing in the quiet air and listening to the tinkering of men below. _Peace_ , he thinks, opening his eyes and watching a boat pull into the harbor. _This is what we fought so hard for._ He thinks of Katara, and her fierce eyes, standing up for what she believes in, and he smiles. _This is how we keep it._

The sky is a beautiful, beautiful blue today. It reminds him of frozen seas, how the ice sucks the color from the water, reflecting the sky above. The first time he'd witnessed the waterbender of the south, the sky had been a lot like this: a silvery blue hue, the sunlight dancing through the air and reflecting the ice in a young girl's eyes. He sighs, taking a deep breath, and sucks in the salt of the air, and sends a prayer to the spirits that he sees her soon.

The boat that has just pulled in docks, and he looks at it lazily for a moment before looking away. Then, as if in a dream, he blinks, and looks back, mouth dropping in surprise as he takes in the blue trimmings, and the flag of the Southern Water Tribe standing proud on top of the mast.

_She’s here._

He blinks once, twice, three times, before his brain catches up with the realization. Then, in a flash, he's turning around and making for the stairs, tripping over his feet in a desperate attempt to move, faster, farther, further— _Katara is here, Katara is here, she is here._

Today must have been a sign, he realizes, as he takes the steps two at a time, dodging a few soldiers who shout in surprise. He bids a hasty apology, but doesn’t stop running, because it’s a beautiful day, the sky is waterbender blue and the ocean reflects the depths of her eyes, and _she is here_. Good weather follows her wherever she goes, like the sun chasing the moon, tides following the moon's call, and it makes sense that the beautiful day hails her return.

He runs out into the open air, breathing in the smell of the ocean, the way it clings to Katara’s hair even after weeks spent on land, and sprints down to the docks. He sees a little figure making it’s way down the ladder, dark hair swishing in the breeze, draped in the blues he knows so well. He grits his teeth, summons the instincts he buried down long ago— instincts meant for dodging Aang’s sneak attacks and Sokka’s rear end _bombs_ — and flies, because there’s one person he’s wanted to see for the longest time, and she’s finally back.

He staggers onto the piers, and gasps, watching the girl he loves step onto the dock. She sets her bag down at her feet, and her eyes are wide and blue blue blue, and her lips part in a silent gasp. There’s a name on her lips, _his name,_ and he watches her eyes widen as she takes him in.

“Katara,” he whispers, and her eyes well up in tears. His heart rises in his throat, and he takes a step forward, hand reaching out, yearning for the one thing he’s always wanted. “Katara.”

~0~

It’s poetic, and fitting, really, that he’s the one to greet her the moment she returns. The last to see her leave, and the first to witness her return, a blissful reunion she yearns for every time she has to depart. Just like the tides, returning back to where they belong, and Zuko, the shore they reach for. 

He reaches out, and there’s something beautiful in the twin suns of his gaze. Zuko’s eyes have always been intense, reaching something deep within her that flares with want and heat and something _more._ Today, in the bright sunlight, they look like the heart of a fire, molten and blazing like imperial gold. “Katara,” she hears him say, and that’s all it takes for her to drop her things and fling herself into his arms.

“Zuko,” she whispers, and wraps her arms around his neck, burying her face in his neck. “I missed you.”

He smells like fire and feels like home.

~0~

She smells like rain and feels like love. 

“I missed you,” he hears her whisper against his throat, and the pressure builds up within him, simmering right behind his lips. A desperate yearn to whisper her name over and over like a hymn, but he shoves it down to press his lips against her hair. 

“I missed you,” he says, and they break away. She looks beautiful, as always, hair tied back and choker sitting in the hollow of her throat. Her eyes are tired, but they’re a brilliant brilliant blue, and they’re filled with tears to reflect the ocean within her depths. “So much.”

She laughs, and the skin around her eyes crinkle. It’s the little things about her— the way her eyes smile, the way her lips quirk, the linger of ocean in her hair and the ice that sparkles in her eyes— that make life with her so worth it. 

"It's good to see you," he whispers, and she smiles. Her hair is longer, he realizes, now teasing the arch of her hips, and she's taller now, more willowy and still achingly beautiful. She steps in closer, hand teasingly brushing his, and the smile she sends his way is blinding.

"It's good to be back."

~0~

He's grown. 

His hair is longer, now kissing his collarbones, and he towers above her, all broad shoulders and moonkissed skin. But he's still her Zuko, even in all the months they've been apart, and she thinks he's never looked more handsome than he does in this moment, with tousled hair and heaving breath, with eyes that reflect the sun.

"You look great," he whispers, and there's a faint blush of baby pink spreading across his skin, like the sunset bleeding across the sky. There's always been an ache of something _more_ simmering in the tight space between them, lingering in the late nights and early mornings and breathless farewells under the moon. It stands out, _stark_ , in this moment, like the strings on an erhu wound tighter and tighter. She's waiting for the moment for it to snap, and tests the boundaries, reaching out to touch his hair, feel the silkiness in her hand and the skin of his cheek against her fingertips.

"It's grown," she notes, and hears his hissed intake of breath, watches his eyes widen in surprise. There's a flood of affection blooming across his face, and she drops her hand, looking up into his soft gaze. There's so much to do in this world— so much to see, so many people to meet and lives to save— but she could live for eons just searching the endless depths of his eyes. There are galaxies in his eyes, just waiting to be explored, answers to questions she doesn't even know yet, and she can't wait to find them all. 

If he'll let her.

She cups his cheek, the scar that means so much, and he sucks in a breath, eyes closing for a brief moment. She remembers a time after the war, late at night in the throne room sharing a bottle of wine. _You're the first person I've let touch it_ , she remembers him saying, remembers the way his eyes flickered in the candlelight, the soft brush of his hair against her hand.

 _I'm sorry,_ she'd said. _I shouldn't have, it was impulsive—_

 _I'm happy it was you,_ he told her. _I wanted it to be you._

She thinks about that moment, suspended in the gleam of crystals, and can't help but smile. How far they have come, since fighting as enemies to fighting as friends, and lately, something that lingers on the brink of something more. The unknown is tempting, like stepping off into the deep, but a future with Zuko is as thrilling as it is terrifying. 

"You grew it out," she says, and he smiles. 

"I did," he replies. A teasing light enters his gaze. "Maybe soon it'll be longer than yours."

She laughs. "I don't doubt it."

They both share a smile and a laugh, and the moment is light. Then Zuko blinks, looking at her, and the air grows heavy with electricity as he watches her. "How long are you staying?" He breathes, and his voice is hesitant, quiet, almost lost to the wind.

She thinks about the Southern Water Tribe. Her father is happy and well, taking care of her grandmother and presiding over the village. Trade between the Earth Kingdom and her home is booming, and her village no longer goes hungry. Sokka and Suki are happy and healthy on Kyoshi, and Aang is visiting with Toph, traveling the Earth Kingdom. Her family is alive and well, and happy where they belong.

Maybe it's her time.

"I'd like to stay," she murmurs. "For as long as you'll have me."

He sucks in a breath, closes his eyes, and turns his cheek into her palm. His lips are soft against her skin, making her heart skip a beat, and when he opens his eyes, they are blazing with affection. 

"I always want you," he tells her, and her gut clenches. "I want this to be your home."

She blinks back tears, and manages a smile, overwhelmed by her love for this boy— a love that shocks her every day, a love that has no end in sight. "Zuko," she manages, and he looks at her, eyes unflinching, and a part of her wants to stand at his side until the world falls away at her feet.

"You're always welcome here," he tells her. "I know it's not your home, but I hope you know that—"

"I'm home," she manages. "This is where I need to be— where I _want_ to be."

He blinks, and then an ear splitting great paints his cheeks, making him look years younger. "Yeah?" He manages, and she throws herself into his arms once more.

"Yeah," she whispers, and she feels his smile deep in her hair.

"Welcome home."

~0~

 _She's staying_.

It's his only coherent thought as they make the walk back to the palace. The nation is pleased to see the return of their waterbender— she's theirs, _his_ , the only waterbender to hold the heart of the Fire Nation within the palm of her hands. _Friend of the Crown_ and _Lady of the Moon_ follows her steps; the people bow their heads respectfully as they pass, eyes widening in awe and admiration for the girl who saved their country. Zuko watches this unfold, watches the way she greets the people. _She'd make a wonderful Firelady,_ he thinks, and when she turns that blinding smile up at him, he knows.

 _She_ will _make a wonderful Firelady. Someday._

His schedule is cleared for the rest of the day in order to spend time with Katara. She's escorted to her rooms to relax and decompress, and he begins the planning for dinner, rushing down to the kitchens so the cooks can prepare her favorite meals. 

She finds him in the garden a little while later, stripped down to his underclothes, practicing his kata. He turns, and she's there, watching him under the balcony. She's taken off her outer clothes to reveal her light tunic, brown arms corded with muscle. She steps out into the garden, and he tracks her movements, the way she glides across the ground, just like the element she bends.

"This is new," she says, and traces a scar across his left collarbone. He sucks in a breath at the feel of her fingers pressing against his skin, feels stripped down past his skin under her gaze, like she can see into his very heart and know how much she lingers in his soul.

"I may have let Jee get the best of me," he murmurs, and she laughs. He chuckles, settling down by the pond, and she joins him, eyes growing sober as her hand trails the starburst streaking across his skin.

 _Was it worth it?_ she once asked him, in a moment much like now— whispered breaths, bared skin, sweat painting the silence.

 _I'd do it again in a heartbeat_ , he told her. _I know you can take care of yourself— but I wouldn't be able to live with myself if you got hurt._

She studies him now, eyebrows furrowed. "I'm sorry I never learned how to heal this," she says, hand tracing the starburst, and he frowns. "Yugoda might be able to, but I—"

"I don't mind," he interrupts, and she looks at him with eyes unguarded, lips parted. "It reminds me of everything good I was willing to defend— willing to lay my life down for."

She sucks in a breath, and the moment hovers over them, like a flame flickering in the breeze. "Still," she says, after a moment, and the air is thick with emotions, rolling off her like waves on the shore. "I hate that you got hurt on my account."

"We've been over this," he tells her, gentle and soft. "I don't regret what I did. You're my best friend, Katara. I couldn't let Azula hurt you." His voice lowers, and he touches her hand, hesitant, like the kiss of wind against the moors. "I _wouldn't."_

She looks at him, quiet, pensive. It's quiet, but neither of them break contact— there's something to be said about the silence, how it can convey more than words. He's gotten used to reading her over the years, and the look she's sending him is filled with something, something he'd gladly spend the rest of his life trying to decipher.

"Do you regret it?" She asks, and he sucks in a breath. "The war?"

He shakes his head. "No," he murmurs, and traces a path up his arm. "We made mistakes, but I don't regret joining you against my father, picking you to help defeat my sister. It was my destiny to restore honor to the nation, and I'm happy to have had my true family by my side the entire time."

She sighs, and leans into his side. He relaxes, resting his arm over her shoulders, and pulls her close. It's quiet, and the sun is dipping behind the clouds, painting the sky in varying shades of sunflower and gold. He listens to Katara breathe, listens to the gentle rhythm of her heart beating in tandem to his. _This is peace,_ he thinks. This is what Sozin gave up, this is what Ozai was willing to destroy.

Not him.

The turtleducks make their appearance as the sun surrenders to twilight. Katara's eyes light up, and she leaves his side to crouch by the pond’s edge, cooing as the babies venture into the water. He watches her, eyes soft, as she gently touches their down, plays with the water to make wakes for them to play, and can't help but imagine the Firelady crown in her hair. This gentle, soft, beautiful soul, helping command the country and bring this world into a new era. 

It's a vision he yearns for, a fantasy he's desperate to bring to reality. Whatever it takes.

"They're so small," Katara says, and he feels a flash of memory sliding back into his consciousness— Katara, kneeling by the turtleducks, _delicate._ She picks one up, and it quacks at her, digging its beak into the folds of her sleeve, and she laughs. It sounds like wind chimes to Zuko, and he smiles, reaching out to run his fingers through the duck's soft down.

"I seem to remember that it's the small ones who pack the largest punch," he tells Katara, and she chuckles, letting the baby back into the water. "Size means nothing, especially when you could kick my ass without even lifting a finger."

She grins. "Toph too."

He groans. "Don't even get me started. Now, _that_ , there, that is a dangerous creature. I think the world got it wrong when it said the Avatar was the strongest being. It clearly hadn't met _her_ yet."

The smile that Katara sends his way is blinding— her whole face lights up; eyes crinkling, nose scrunching, lips stretched wide. "Careful, Zuko," she says. "If Toph hears that you said that, she might come here demanding a title."

He shrugs. "I'd gladly give it to her. _Strongest_ _Bender."_

She raises a brow. "Then what am I?"

"You?" He looks at her, brows furrowed. He could think of many titles to give Katara— _the brave, the kind, the beautiful, Firelady. "_ You're the Lady of the Moon, of course." His voice drops. "Friend of the Crown."

She smiles, and it's a sweet moment. Her hand finds his, threading her fingers through his as they turn their faces back to the sky, where red and blue meet in a clash of gold. It's a beautiful sunset, and as Zuko's fingers tighten in hers, he looks at her— looks at her face illuminated in a golden glow, her eyes swimming with warmth and happiness and something _more—_ he hopes that will be the last sunset they witness as friends, and the first, as possibly, something more.

~0~

They stay in the gardens until the call for dinner. She doesn't know how long they spend under the tree, but her back is warm from where she leans into him, and when he moves, she already misses him. But his hand reaches out, finding hers, and he pulls her to his feet with a smile on his face.

"Come on," he tells her. "I prepared your favorites." 

(It's a wonder she's lived her entire life in a place of frozen seas. Her world has always been suspended in a globe of ice air and snow beneath her lashes; the cold is something she's always known and loved. But maybe waterbenders weren't meant for the ice— maybe Katara was never meant for the ice. The call of the sun beckons her, golden fires simmering beneath her skin, warmth flooding through her, and she doesn't think she can ever go back.)

He leads her back inside, back into the dining hall. There's a place set for the two of them, bread and other appetizers waiting, and Zuko pulls out her seat. A flood of warmth surges through her, and she ducks her head, blush rushing through her cheeks, and busies herself with the warmth of the candlelight, how it bathes Zuko in a sea of molten gold.

The wine runs thick tonight— ice wine that reminds her of cold nights and cold moons. They talk, and Katara is ever so aware of the rising tension that settles between them, the heat on their cheeks and the way his eyes can never seem to leave hers.

There is _something_ undeniable between them. There has to be. She knows what love is, she knows what attraction is, knows the longing gaze shared over firelight and the soft kisses shared under a beast's shadow. Jet and Aang were all parts of her love story— the knowledge and the history sits in her bones. She knows what love is. She can't deny that this is what she and Zuko could have— maybe do already.

He's made an entire Southern Water Tribe dinner for her; there's five flavored soup, eelwhale, and sea prunes. The ice wine tastes like syrup on her lips, and she gratefully accepts glass after glass, until her world shimmers in a sheen of peach hues, and Zuko looks like he was bathed in starlight.

She blinks in surprise as he takes a large serving of sea prunes. "I thought you hated those," she says, and he looks up at her, blinking in confusion.

"I never hated them," he says, and takes a bite. "It's a part of your culture, Katara. I don't think I could hate it even if I tried." He blinks. "Last I remember, it was Aang who didn't like these. Which is a shame, since they're so good. I never would've thought, since the texture..."

His voice fades to the background. Katara stares at him, the way he chats, animated, how his eyes turn up at the corners and how he takes bite after bite of her favorite food. He looks so happy in this moment, so beautiful, and the way he's invested so much into her people and culture—

It hits her, suddenly, the love she has for him. It's always been a constant presence in the forefront of her mind, like the wind in her hair— persistent, perpetual. Like a strike of lightning that slashes through her core, she's hit with a sudden wave of warm and an overwhelming wave of intensity, making her blink as stars cloud her vision. Maybe it's the wine, or the atmosphere, or Zuko, but suddenly the air is hard to breathe and she can't think clearly.

She stands, cutting Zuko off abruptly. He blinks up at her owlishly, confused, _concerned_ , and she cannot spend one more moment in this room with him robbing her of her thoughts. "Sorry," she chokes out, and turns. "I need a moment."

She flees, and hears him call out her name. There's an ache in her chest that pounds at her ribs and steals the breath from her lungs, but she can't stay there— not with his molten gaze and his eagerness to please. Not with this overwhelming ache in her chest that yearns for something more— something she knows she can reach, but is still somehow so unattainable.

She slams her way back into her rooms, shedding her outer robes. Throwing open the doors, she slips out onto her balcony, chest heaving, eyes pressed tight together. The moon is high tonight, full and beautiful and flooding her with power. Maybe that's why everything is so intense tonight— her emotions, her feelings, and the air between them. Everything is heightened, and maybe it's because of the moon, like the high tides screaming towards the shore.

 _I remember the first time I saw you bend under the moon._ The memory returns to her, like a wisp of smoke curling around her subconscious. Zuko appears, in her mind's eye; they're on the rooftop of the palace, and she's manipulating a curl of fire whiskey under the light of the moon. _It was the most beautiful thing I've ever seen in my life._

 _Just the bending?_ She'd joked, but the look in his eyes had make her pause, returning the whiskey to the bottle to watch him, brows furrowed, lips clenched. He looked pensive in that moment even as he glowed silver, like a star sent down to earth.

 _You're beautiful, Katara_ , he had whispered. _You've always been beautiful._

She sighs, and buries her face in her hands. She can't deny this _thing_ between them, but she doesn't know what to call it. They're friends— good friends, _best_ friends. But they could be something more, and _that's_ what scares her.

She knows that she loves him. She knows that he might love her— or at least, can love her, if they choose to. But is that fair for both of them? Her break up with Aang was easy, but it took months for them to return to the dynamic they had— months of awkward meetings and strangled interactions. Is she willing to risk the good friendship she and Zuko already have, just for the hope of something _more?_

She sighs, lowering her head onto the balcony, and watches the moon as she presides over the air. _What would you do?_ She asks Yue, and not for the first time, wishes for the comfort of the girl who put duty before love. 

(Love and duty, the two sides of a single coin. What should be done for the sake of the world, and what could be done for the sake of her heart. It's always come down to this— it will always come down to this— this conflict of righteousness versus heartache, and she feels like a stream stuck at a crossroads. One part aches to veer towards a distant shore, another pleads to continue onto the path it's always known. Love and duty, the known, and the untold.)

 _Sokka was my first and last love,_ she imagines Yue saying, pictures the silver princess hovering at her shoulder. _I think you know my answer to this._

"Is it worth it?" She wonders. Yue didn't have to sacrifice her life— she could have sheltered within the palace, protected by ice and snow and the people who love her. She thinks of Sokka, painted with the mark of the brave. Her brother would have sacrificed anything to keep Yue safe— and Yue did the same for him.

 _Love is always worth it._ She can picture Yue watching her, eyes soft, with sorrow and love and kindness, just like the princess she was in life. _I would have given my life up ten times over to protect my tribe and the people I love. Wouldn't you do the same for yours?_

Katara remembers the heartbeats spent in agony watching Zuko take the lightning in her place— how her feet moved before she could think, heart in her throat, water already responding to her call. _Anything_ , she thinks— _realizes—_ remembering the reason she fought. Not for honor, not for glory, all to end the war and save the boy who saved her.

She shakes her head and sighs. It's a complicated situation, no matter what she wants, and she wishes she could have a clear answer. But it's messy no matter how you look at it— loving Zuko in secret or in silence will always have its hardships. It's just her decision, does she choose what's right, or what her heart wants?

(Duty clings to her like a shadow, whispers to her in the heartbeats between breaths, lingers within her mind like fog at dawn. But fog always gives in to the heat of the sun, and she wonders if love could be the catalyst that breaks her free.)

She doesn't know how long she spends out there with only the moon and stars for company, but it's no surprise that Zuko finds her. He's respectful— always giving her the space Aang didn't know she needed— and doesn't chase after her right away, giving her time. It's so thoughtful and kind, the way he can read her where others have struggled, and makes that tugging in her heart that much more persistent.

He doesn't say a thing, but his presence in her space is like a tsunami, the heat and the pressure he exudes is enough to make the breath catch in her throat. He doesn't say anything, but she feels him draw near, his footsteps as quiet as the dawn creeping into the sky. He settles next to her, quiet, soft, and his arm barely brushes hers as he shifts. 

"You okay?" She wonders if he even says that— years and years of living and experiencing the world with him have conditioned her to his every thought; it's like she can hear what he's thinking— but his eyes are on her, soft and searching, and she knows he's waiting for her answer.

"Yeah," she returns, and they settle into a comfortable silence. There's something lingering in the air between them, something heavy and filled with heat, but she doesn't address it, and neither does he.

It's something left unsaid— and maybe, that's okay. Loving Zuko, no matter what form it takes, is love enough, and Katara knows that. She can live with that, if that's what he needs.

(Even if it's not what she wants.)

~0~

_She's scared._

It's the first thing he realizes as he makes his way to her rooms, treading slowly to give her time. It's clear that she knows what lingers in the space between their heartbeats, and he knows her fear isn't directed at this _thing_ , but rather at the future it could bring. Katara is a fretter at heart— worrying runs through her blood as thick as her love, and it's beautiful and so very Katara. But he doesn't want her to worry— about them, about love, about _them._

He finds his way to her rooms, knocking softly. She doesn't answer, as expected, and he slips inside. Her balcony doors are wide open, and he can see her figure huddled onto the balcony, watching the moon. He remembers, once, a long time ago, the first time he watched her bend at her peak, the water frozen around her face like little stars suspended in time, illuminating her in a silver glow.

 _I remember the first time I saw you bend under the moon_ , he'd said, watched the blush spread across her cheeks like a wine stain. _It was the most beautiful thing I've ever seen in my life._

 _Just the bending?_ She responded, and he remembers the conflict he faced in that moment; two roads, two destinies, one following the path with Katara at his side; the other, alone and unsure, wishing for something he wasn't sure was attainable. He looked at her, yearning, _wanting,_ the words sitting on his tongue, but the hesitance in her gaze held him back. 

_You're beautiful, Katara_ , he had whispered. _You've always been beautiful._

It wasn't what he wanted to say: _I've never loved anyone as much as I love you_ , but words escape him when he needs them the most, whenever Katara is there. It's like she robs him of his thoughts, rendering him breathless and awestruck all in a moments' notice— but that's always been the case. Like the tides, he always returns back to her, like clockwork, willing to try again.

(Maybe that's who they are, the sea and the shore, forever circling each other in an eternal dance, desperate to join as one.)

Like the tides, he'll always come back to her — only this time, he thinks he can do it— he has to. Years of chasing each other, years of dancing and teetering on the brink of the unknown has rendered him impatient— he cherishes their friendship, but their love is something he can't put off, not any longer.

He knows she senses his approach, even if she doesn't acknowledge his presence. Years and years of living with each other and learning each other's quirks have conditioned them— he thinks he could pinpoint her in a crowd of a thousand people, pick her out among the countless unmemorable faces as easy as watching an eaglehawk soar through the skies. It's a wonder she's so scared of this; he's so attuned to her that he wouldn't know life without her there.

He settles in besides her, feels the heat of her body pressed against his, smells the salt and sea that lingers on her skin. It's comforting, having her here, that somehow, she's the breath of fresh air, bringing in the scent of the world that clings to her hair and cleansing the smoke of the fire. 

"You okay?" he murmurs, and her shoulders tense. She doesn't look at him, but he can feel her fingers flex against his arm as he leans on the balcony next to her— and he wonders if she craves his touch as much as he does hers. 

(Like a moth drawn to a flame, fire drawn to ice, Zuko to Katara— it's as simple as the yin and yang that binds the world. There's a balance in opposites, life and death, fire and water, hot and cold, and the love that hovers between a girl and a boy.)

"Yeah," she murmurs, and her voice is quiet, breathless, and her eyes reflect the night sky. There's a galaxy hidden in her gaze, and he wants to let her know he could spend a millenia just searching her gaze for answers to questions he wished he knew. 

It's silent for a little bit, and he takes the moment to study her, study the sky, study the ocean. It's a beautiful view; the moon is silver and tinted blue, the ocean is quiet and calm, and the air between them is electrifying. It's a warm night, the breeze sweet and teasing spring days to come, and it's fitting that he welcomes the season change with Katara at his side. There are myths of spirits hailing from different worlds, coming together to celebrate the changing of the tides, the seasons, the times, and he wonders if someday, maybe they'll have a love story strong enough to be immortalized amongst the stars.

He can sense her thoughts running rampant in her mind, just like his, but he waits for the right moment, waits for that perfect opportunity where she will finally belong to him.

(He doesn't know how long he waits— that's the thing about Katara. When he's with her, the world seems to freeze in its tracks, like a glacier in winter; everything slows down and the world tilts on its axis. It could be mere seconds or eons; cities could rise and fall, and all that matters is the way the blue of her eyes shift from sapphire to midnight.)

Then he sees his opportunity— the sun is kissing the horizon, and the first blush of dawn is spreading across the sky, baby pinks bleeding into the dark of night. He nudges Katara, and she jerks, looking up at him, and the light of the sun sparkles in her eyes. "Look," he murmurs and she turns her gaze to the horizon, where reds and pinks and golds light up the sky, wrangling the black from the horizon to welcome the first kisses of blue back into the atmosphere. The moon still shines overhead, not willing to relinquish her dominion, and for a brief moment, the sun and the moon meet in a stalemate of colors.

"It's like you and me," he nudges Katara, and she looks. Her eyes widen, and he can see the breath catching in her throat. "The sun and moon. When they meet—" his breath lowers into a gasping breath "— it's _electrifying."_

It's a beautiful homage to who they are— a child of the moon and a boy kissed by fire. The world was never prepared for the two of them, never prepared for fire and ice to meet in such harmony, but the beauty created from their union is nothing short of spectacular. He looks at the moon, looks at the sun, and, not for the first time, thanks the spirits for gifting her into his life.

He senses her, and turns. She's breathing hard, eyes brimming with starlight, and her mouth is open in a silent _oh,_ and there's something beautiful swimming within the depths of her gaze, something perfect and brilliant and _oh so right._ Drowning in the waterbender's gaze seems like a fitting end to this tale of love.

 _I love you,_ he thinks and watches her, watches how her lips part, breath leaving her like a rushing tide, the way the moonlight filters through her lashes. She looks marvelous, shimmering in the starlight, and he commits the image of her in this moment to his memory— no matter what happens, this is the Katara he'll remember: eyes shining with warmth, kissed by the stars and blessed by the moon.

Katara turns, and the air escapes his lungs. 

She looks at him—

~0~

—He looks at her.

He looks at her, and there's a universe to be broken down within the depths of his gaze. She feels vulnerable under it— stripped of her water skin, her armor— but not powerless; in fact, his stare sends thrills of energy running through her body, coiling at the base of her spine. 

_I love you,_ she thinks, and a weight seems to lift off her shoulders. Zuko is everything she's ever wanted, everything she could have ever pictured for a first— and last— love, and it leaves her breathless. He's looking down at her, affection and warmth and _something_ brimming in his gaze, and something stirs within her.

(Maybe it's the pull of the flames that draw her in— like fire and ice, opposites that should never meet, but are attracted to each other nonetheless. Two elements, never meant to connect, but circle each other in an eternal dance of desire. But maybe, once in a millennium, they meet, in a bridge of stars, the sun and the moon. An eclipse.)

A flush spreads across his cheeks, like the tides staining the sand, and they both jump, looking away. She threads a hand through her hair, head flooding her cheeks, and bites at her lips, trying to tamp down the anxiety that threatens to overwhelm her. His hands are twitching, she notices, and he's trapped his lips between his teeth like he does when he's nervous. He's so beautiful in this moment— vulnerable, dressed in a simple tunic— unguarded and like the boy she's always known; and maybe that's what gives her that final push to reach out, and place her hand on his.

~0~

The first touch of her hand on his is like the first kiss of snow upon bare skin; biting and fresh like a winter storm, but bringing with it fresh air to Zuko's lungs. Life without her is stagnant and tepid; when she's here, it's like the first rays of sunlight after a storm, dancing across the blades of grass damp with rain. He looks at her, and her chest heaves, face burning, eyes brimming with the unknown.

He looks at her. "Katara," he murmurs, and licks his lips. _It's now or never,_ he realizes, and her eyes widen as he takes a deep breath.

"Zuko—" she begins, but breaks off as he turns, pinning her down, heat in his eyes. 

"I want a little bit more than this," he whispers, and she gasps. "And I know that it might tear us apart— spirits, I think about it _constantly—_ but I'm tired, Katara. Tired of wanting you, tired of wishing for more. And I know you're scared— spirits, I am too— and I don't want to lose you, but I can't just let you go without trying." He takes a breath. "I think I love you, Katara," he murmurs, and she gasps a breathless _oh_ he thinks he can hear deep in his soul. "Please, take this chance with me. Tell me I'm not crazy— that you feel this too. Please."

She looks at him, and something changes deep in her eyes— they lighten somehow, relief and happiness flooding into her eyes, and she releases a gasp that might as well be a tempest. He looks at her, a whispered _Katara?_ dancing across his lips, she blinks, once, twice three times.

Silence falls.

~0~

"—And I know that it might tear us apart— spirits, I think about it constantly— but I'm tired, Katara. Tired of wanting you, tired of wishing for more. And I know you're scared— spirits, I am too— and I don't want to lose you, but I can't just let you go without trying. I think I love you, Katara."

His words hit her like the moment the waves finally reach the shore— climactic, poetic, all she's ever wanted. Warmth rushes over her in a persistent wave, drowning her with a heaviness that sits on her shoulders like a weighted blanket. She looks at him, sees the sincerity pooling in his golden gaze, and something tugs within her— the moon calling, her love rising— and she turns, reaching for him as he leans in, cupping her cheek in one calloused hand, and his gaze is deep enough to drown in for eons.

She looks at him, eyes dropping to his lips. "I know I do," is what she manages, and then his lips are on hers, so right and perfect— she wants to rearrange all the constellations in the sky to memorialize this moment for the world to see.

(—And the waves crash to the shore, called by the moon and the heart. And maybe there's nothing stronger; moontides returning to their home, and the love of a sea girl for a boy of fire.)

Their first kiss goes like this: Katara leans in, head tilted upwards, cerulean eyes fluttering shut in anticipation. Zuko's hand, curling around the back of her neck, pulling her close, tasting the dew that lingers in the space between their breaths. Katara's mouth parts, and Zuko leans in, and the kiss is gentle, sweet, everything and nothing like she imagined it to be.

(He undresses her shadow with a simple touch, leaving it pooling at her feet to dissolve into moonlight, leaving her bared and open and vulnerable to his touch— heart exposed, willingly. He could take her heart in its entirety, leaving her with nothing but relentless waves of love to keep returning, reaching for more.) 

_Never let me go,_ she thinks. _I don't want to lose you._

She must whisper that out loud, poetry blended in the heartbeats between their kiss, because Zuko pulls away slightly, pupils blown and chest heaving. "I won't," he says, resting a hand on his heart, fingers tracing his scar. "I won't let you. I couldn't."

She kisses him, and he groans, pulling her close and arching into her touch. She reaches up, cupping his cheeks, and her lips brush his, softly, tentatively, like the softest brush of a sparrowkeet's down. Fleeting, the barest caress of her lips lasting long enough for her to taste the ice wine on his breath, feel the warmth of his cheeks under her hand. She pulls away, but the imprint of his lips linger, even as he leans in for more.

(Zuko lingers, in the space between heartbeats, in the cracks of her heart. Like shafts of moonlight, pulling the tides closer to shore, she feels him fill her with light, something whole, something perfect, something _right._ A collision of giants— sun and moon— but the union is magnificent.)

"Katara," Zuko whispers, voice cracking. He chases after her, seeking the heat she provides, the heat he craves, and she surrenders, letting him wind his arms around her waist, tilt her head up and pull her close. "I love you _._ It's always been you."

Maybe she spends the rest of time locked in his embrace— seconds, minutes, _eternity._ He's warm and right and so so so perfect, his arms wiry and locked around her with enough force to level mountains. She never wants to leave his side, and she won't, not unless time tears them apart. Her life had been spent righting others’ wrongs, making sure the people she loves get the chance to live life happily.

It's her turn now.

Overhead, the moon relinquishes her grip on the sky, sinking back down past the horizon. For the briefest moment— like moths drawn to candlelight— the moon and the sun touch, and it's quiet, simple, transient. Nothing but the heat of the sun and the silver of the moon, the gentle touch of love passed between breaths. Like fire and ice— an eclipse of two hearts.

(And the tides come home.) 


End file.
